Picture driving down a piece of unswerving and forgotten highway that cuts through a flat desert terrain. You’re in an old white convertible mustang that purrs like it’s fresh off the press. The sun is bright. You’re wearing sunglasses. And in your one hand burns a perfectly rolled joint. The wind blows dry as silk and as warm as a tepid bath. You feel fucking fantastic. Can you guess what’s playing on the car stereo? You’re goddamn right. 

With one listen, it makes sense that The Heliocentrics made the soundtrack for the documentary, “The Sunshine Makers”. The real story of two friends in the ’60s on a mission to save the planet by manufacturing massive amounts of LSD called “Orange Sunshine” and then trying to educate the world with their LSD evangelism. There are no bad trips on this album. Is it interesting? You bet your ass it is. But the interest doesn’t take away from the album’s creamy smoothness and lavender bubble bath comfiness. Just when it feels like it’s about too much, that bass kicks in nice and slow and keeps your feet on the floor. In short, this shit gets you fucked the right up and high as a fucking kite. Daaamn right. Sink in a puffy chair and contemplate if time travel and universal consciousness can coexist. 

Malcolm Catto, drummer and producer, makes a fantastic sound for this album. For the first time, Heliocentrics includes a vocalist. And Barbora Patkova, the Slovakian Amy Winehouse, brings a whole new element and focus to an already wide sound. Some albums, ones similar in style, can get bogged down by one singular sound which becomes weighty quite quickly. With all the new elements and sounds this album throws your way it’s hard not to be refreshed, comfortable, and engaged. 

As far as a genre is concerned, I’m going to shoot for: opium space desert funk/jazz prog rock with electronics that happens to chill you the fuck out. It plays like a ’70s soundtrack to a murder mystery, then like Portishead, then some improvised jazz/funk. It has no simple genre. But I know, without a hint or breath of doubt in my mind, that Hunter S. Thompson would have been on this like a fat kid on a candybar. It’s good in the background for a chill mood or solo on a pair of headphones. I suggest keeping this away from large parties. Save it for those few chill friends or a Sunday spent to yourself. Or, better yet, save it for a drive on a desert highway while smoking that perfectly rolled joint. It’s one groovy ass motherfucker.